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OF ALL THE NEAR-IMPOSSIBLE things Simon had to do that day, the worst by far was the run back to the studio. The one he did in secret, sticking to the shadows and keeping his head low to the ground. There had been another hidden exit in the back of the laboratory, one that hadn’t been on the original blueprints. Otherwise, the little exodus might not have even been possible.
Simon’s breathing grew ragged in his chest as he approached the weather-beaten building he and Tristan were temporarily calling home, feeling as though he was carrying the weight of ten men instead of just one. A homeless man barked something at him in German, but by the time he looked over the guy was tracing figure eights in the air. Not exactly a credible witness.
Then, just as he’d gotten to the parking lot, he had to go back. If it was possible, the run back was even harder. He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost, he’d been so swept away by the waves of adrenaline coursing through his veins, but it was becoming clear to him now that it was a dangerous amount. His arms and legs felt sluggish and slow. It was getting difficult for him to hold up his own head. By the time that he finally made it back into the hall, he was about ready to pass out. But all his efforts paid off, and just in the nick of time.
No sooner had he gotten there than Tristan came rushing around the corner.
“There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Tristan, too, looked a little worse for wear. One of his hands was blackened to a point where Simon didn’t know whether it was burned or had been somehow dipped in dark paint. There was a rip down the entire back of his shirt—the thing was being held on only by the thin band that circled his neck. And there was a large, silver scorch mark zig-zagging down the side of his face.
Simon gestured to the mark with raised eyebrows, and he shook his head.
“There were a few more guards on the other side of the facility. Don’t ask.” His eyes raked over Simon, as though he might have been hiding the doctor behind his back. “But seriously, where the hell were you? Where’s McAllister?”
Simon held something up in the air between them.
“Dead.”
Tristan squinted in alarm, trying to decipher what he was looking at, and Simon explained.
“It’s his badge and ID card. I snagged them as I was trying to get a grip on him, but before I could do anything he shot himself in the head.” His voice cracked believably. “I guess he didn’t want to be taken alive.”
Tristan’s lips parted in shock and he blinked several times, trying to process it.
“I thought I heard a gunshot,” he murmured. His face tightened into a troubled frown, and he stared at the floor for a moment before he lifted those clear blue eyes onto Simon. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Sorry?” Simon repeated in surprise. He had been expecting to have to sell his story a little, to come up with an excuse for the absence of a body. He wasn’t expecting sorry. “What the hell are you sorry for?”
Tristan’s eyes softened sympathetically. “I’m sorry you had to see it. It must have been horrible—you were standing right there...” He trailed off with a shake of his head, then flashed Simon a weak smile as he gestured back up the tunnel. “How about we get the hell out of here?”
“Yeah.” Simon felt another stab of guilt as he followed his friend out towards the cold night sky. “Let’s get the hell out.”
* * *
THE RUN BACK TO THE studio was easier with two people. Simon about had a heart attack when they passed the parking lot, but Tristan kept his eyes obliviously on the elevator and it wasn’t long until they were inside.
That was where the real battle began.
“Shit, Simon! Just do it already!”
Tristan braced himself against a corner of the bed, eyes squeezed shut in pain as Simon tried again and again to pop his shoulder back into place. Another failed attempt was followed by a cry.
“I’m sorry!” Simon exclaimed, leaning down to examine the angle. “I’ve never done this before; I don’t know exactly how to—”
“Oh, just give up already. Let’s call for Dr. Stein.”
Tristan made to stand up, but Simon pushed him back down with unnecessary force.
“NO!”
Tristan glanced up in alarm, and he struggled to temper his voice.
“I mean... No.” He tilted his friend back into the corner with gentle hands, ignoring his own racing heart- beat. “It’s our first mission. They already saw us almost set our new kitchen on fire. I can do this. There’s no need to bring him out here.”
Tristan flinched sullenly, but accepted the wisdom in this statement and turned back to the corner, looking grim. “Fine. Maybe you can do you this. All evidence to the contrary...” Another failed attempt and he gritted his teeth. “But I have no idea what to do for your head.”
“I told you,” Simon tried to joke as he pushed against Tristan’s shoulder, “there’s no changing my personality. Or my face. They’re both here to stay.”
“That’s not what I—”
At last, the joint popped back into place.
Tristan collapsed against the wall with a sign of relief, before stretching it gingerly in front of him. “That’s not what I meant,” he finished. “I mean about the burn, Simon. The girl was throwing freaking lava! It’s not your run of the mill abrasion.” He shook his head as he got to his feet, thinking back on the gruesome events of the day. “I don’t even know what happened to her...”
That same guilt roiled up in Simon’s stomach again, and he was quick to change the subject. “So you really weren’t able to find any fragments of a device? Not even one?”
Tristan shook his head. “Nope. There was nothing there. There were plans for a prototype, but that was it.”
“A prototype? Really?”
That was a little more than the good doctor had implied.
Tristan paced back to the bed, and extracted a flash drive from a hole in the mattress. “The plans, at least, I got. And you came up with that file. But the device, the man...” He shook his head nervously as he put the flash drive back. “I don’t know, Simon.”
Simon’s eyes fixed greedily on the mattress. “Don’t know what?”
Tristan whirled around in frustration. “Don’t know if there’s any way the people back home are going to call this mission a success. Think about it. Our two main objectives: failed.” He fell back on the mattress with a painful wince, cradling his burned hand. “All we managed to do was leave a massive body count in our wake, and set the lab on fire.”
It was true, Simon had deliberately left the fires made by the lava alone, hoping they would eventually spread enough to cover his tracks. By the time he and Tristan got back to the studio, they looked out the window to see a massive column of smoke floating over the broken train tracks. Seems his plan was a success.
“At least we’re consistent,” he said mildly. Tristan looked over questioningly, and he forced a smile. “About the fire. Maybe they’ll only give us arson jobs from now on.”
In spite of himself, Tristan chuckled. It was hard not to. They had simply been through too much in a single day not to give in to hysterics, at least a little. “At least we’ll get to work with Beth.”
When the two of them had finally calmed down Simon turned to him, solemn. Things he’d thought after their H.O.C meetings, things he’d written in his journal that he dreamed about. It might actually be a reality. “But seriously, Tris, they sent us there to stop a man from creating a brainwashing device. We did that. They might not like exactly how, they might not like that they don’t have pieces of the device for themselves, but we fulfilled our mission objective. The doctor won’t be hurting anyone anymore.”
Tristan stared at him for a long while, before nodding. Then he flipped onto his back with a small sigh. They might have been on a time-crunch to get there, but there was no rush in getting back. They would sleep in, rest up a little, and catch a flight in the morning. At least, that was Tristan’s plan. Simon, on the other hand, had a slightly different idea.
“Tris...how would you feel about driving back?”
Tristan glanced over in surprise. “Driving? Instead of a plane? Why the hell would we do that?”
“Well, we have the rental car—”
“Yeah, we have the German rental car. We can’t take it with us back to England.”
Simon nodded quickly, not wanting to push the matter too hard. Tristan was right, of course. The car couldn’t come with them back to London. He would have to think of another plan...
“And no,” Tristan continued, “we’re not taking the train either. I could run faster than that thing. Literally. We’ll fly.” He pushed back his hair and glared up at the ceiling. “I just want to get out of this freaking country as soon as possible.”
Simon nodded again, and clapped him on the arm before turning off the light.
“We will. First thing in the morning.”
That was the plan.
But as it turned out, the night wasn’t finished with them yet...
